They hit me like a sledge hammer to the skull.These memories that creep and climb, pulling their way along my body, leaving trails of distaste in their wake.They slither into my brain and curl around my cerebral cortex. I hear the tell-tale rattle bouncing against the walls of membrane and bone.

They strike when I am warm and safe in bed, my defenses pooled around my feet, like warm down blankets. They burrow beneath the layers and layers of brick I piled in front of my cell, the solitary confinement where all things hurtful go, the special place for things that go bump in the night.

I see her image broadcast on the TV screen in my mind. I can smell the sickly clean smell of the ICU room and hear the monitor as they bleep and blare out information on my mothers vital signs.

It is my mantra, my prayer. I worry the words in my hands like beads. Running them over and through my fingers till they are warmed by my body; an unconscious and ever-present extension of every waking thought.

My hands and face are "protected" and the false dryness of the gloves grate against my skin as I hold her cold, clammy, unresponsive hand. My heart beats a betraying mixture of sadness and resentment. It is a echoing voice, betraying me in these small quiet moments.

The Christmas lights glow from the nurses station behind me and reflect a thousand fold in her window. Through silent tears I watch them stream down into a watercolor of light. I pray for just a moment of recognition. I pray just as hard for none. Live or die. I don't know what I want. I've cried a river of tears and I just want to float away on them, far away to places that don't smell of death and pain. Places where people speak in loud booming voices and children laugh out loud, outrageously alive.

Alive.

I don't want her to suffer but I can't let her go. I don't want to visit her like this for another twenty years, or five, or even one.

This non existence.

This non living.

This in-between place is killing me, killing her.

Endless waiting. Each day blends into another till I can no longer tell if it's night or day, week or weekend, December or January. I come to hate them all. The nurses, the doctors, the people who smile at me in the hallways. I hate you, each of you, with every fiber in my body, every DNA strand that makes up my being. I hate you in my toenails, the strands of my hair.desperately.Passionately.Hopelessly.

You that can smile and laugh. You that can tell your mother your sorry.So sorry that you are less then what you should be. So sorry that you are not strong enough today.

What is strength if it desserts you when you need it most? What good is being strong when you are brought down to your knees in the most important and telling time of your life?

I remember the first Thanksgiving after my great-grandmother passed. Thanksgiving was HER holiday. The one that we spent with her every year. The one we looked forward to eagerly. After she died suddenly, just three weeks before, it was devastating. And I felt guilt because I didn't visit her the week before like I said I would. It made me sad to think that she was disappointed that she didn't get to see me and my kids. And then she had died. But I know that my loving her was what she remembered. {{{{HUGS}}}}

Karamia Im crying here..this heartfelt post brought back memories of my dad's sudden death. It seems both u and I were pretty young when our parents died. And times have changed and we have grown so much. It hurts my heart to know that Dad is not here to see who I am today. Likewise ur momma is not here today to hear what u have to say...well she's not here physically but Im sure she's ard watching over u, hearing every bit ur saying here. HUGGGGGGGGGGZ darling! She wants u to be happy...rem tis the season for joy...no momma would wanna see their kid crying during this time...atleast u have me Karamia. Always know that.

I feel your pain.I've seen your pain.I have close family that is living your pain right now.

Those words don't help much but what you are experiencing is...what...'normal'? I'm not sure that's a good word to use. How about, expected, part of grieving and healing. Words I'm sure you've heard before and probably told yourself a hundred times.

Beautifully written. I hope it brings some peace to your soul my sweet.

kara - i'm so so sorry for your deep deep loss. your post is very powerful. i hope that slowly but surely, this time of year gets better for you. kendell will help with that, but i am sure it will take time and time again.